


Entanglement

by Columbina



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Camping, Hand Job, M/M, obsessive discussion of the multiverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 18:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10622307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Columbina/pseuds/Columbina
Summary: It doesn't feel dangerous when he moves the hand at the side of Link's sleeping bag a little closer to the other man's side. It doesn't feel wrong; it just feels like the same game of chicken they've played with touching all their lives, feeling out the line between awkward and inappropriate, often clumsily. So he moves it a little further.





	

It's the shuffling that gives him away, in the end. Link sleeps like the dead, all heavy, solid limbs that thump across the bed each time he flails, but Rhett can hear the shift of his legs now, the restless curling and uncurling of the arm under his head.

"Link?" It's a new moon, so he couldn't see his own hand in front of his face even if he wanted to open his eyes, which he doesn't, but he can still picture Rhett perfectly. Eyes wide open, talking up at the ceiling of the tent in a stage whisper. "You awake?"

"You don't have to whisper, man. We're the only two dudes out here for a hundred miles." He pictures Rhett wincing, too, which he does, a foot to the left of Link.

"Yeah, I do, _man_. It's breaking the spell or something. You gotta respect the desert gods." It doesn't get the rise Rhett's hoping for. He can tell Link's trying to wait him out, but it's not gonna be that easy. He switches tactics.

"I'm just _saying_ , how can you never think about it? I mean. Do. Think about it." Rhett's voice starts to creep into his whisper, getting excited now. His hands have worked their way out of his sleeping bag and into the slight chill of the air, gesturing minutely. Link, unfortunately, knows precisely what he's angling at.

"Rhett, I'm pretty sure it's at least 2:00 AM. I can't hear about the multiverse right now." The tent is treated to the full brunt of Rhett's frustrated expression, the one he can't resist when Link won't try a new dish or tells him about some straight-jacketing routine he engages in.

"Right now, there's a Link somewhere out there who does wanna hear about the multiverse." He knows he sounds a little childish, but no one can see his pout in the dark.

"Somewhere out there, there's a Link who's asleep." That seems to do the trick, because Rhett trails off, apparently lost in thought, and for a second there's only the darkness and Rhett's breathing and the faint background noise of something, the desert or the universe, Link's not sure what.

It doesn't last for long, though. He can hear Rhett make a few false starts, mouth opening and closing, and Link grudgingly turns over even though he hasn't got any light or glasses to see him with. Rhett's tapping his fingers on his chest, by the sound of it, then suddenly stops. It's so quiet Link can hear his lips part and for a second he's on tenterhooks.

".. there's a universe where you farted so bad we had to clear outta the tent." He's laughing before he can even get it out, and Link's hand comes up automatically to smack Rhett in the chest, but he's ready for it and grabs Link's wrist.

"Nuh uh, man, I bet there's more of you's bein' nasty than there are me's!"

"That's the beauty!" Finally too moved to lay still, Rhett lets go of his wrist and turns toward Link in the darkness, widens his eyes seriously and imagines Link sees it even in the pitch black. ".. infinite farts."

There's a moment of perfect anticipation.

Then Link starts the giggling and Rhett follows right after him, feeding off one another until they're silent with laughter, thrashing around on the floor of the tent, gasping for air. Link slaps his chest rhythmically, trying to come down, and slowly they catch their breath. Their chests hiss against the material of their sleeping bags in a rhythmic rise and fall, out of time with each other.

"I do think about it sometimes," Link admits finally, giving in to the conversation he knows Rhett's dying to have.

"I knew it, man, how could you not? It's so cool. Millions of other us-es." Link frowns into the darkness and shrugs against the edge of his pillow.

"I dunno. Makes me kinda anxious." Rhett, predictably, snorts.

"Everything makes you anxious." Link reaches over to express his eye roll by means of a pinch to the arm, but misses and has to pluck at Rhett's sleeping bag instead.

"I'm serious. What if I'm embarrassing myself out there?" Rhett thinks about reminding him of the statistics - infinite possibilities mean that's infinitely true - but decides he's already needled Link as much as it's safe to without picking a fight.

"Nah, dude. I mean, yeah, somewhere, but think about all the cool stuff you're doing. Astronaut Neal. Guy Who Can Surf Neal." Link laughs outright at this one.

"Guy Who Clears Out Parties Neal. Strangle Hands Neal." He can feel more than hear Rhett shaking beside him, getting tickled. He plays it up, putting on a voice and bugging out his eyes despite the void in front of him. "I could be craaazy. Got hands that won't quit." Rhett busts at that and Link feels a few drops of spittle land on his face. "Ew, dude. Keep ya spit to yourself." But Rhett's still rolling.

"Yeah, that's what they're gonna say. Oh, gosh." Rhett tries to talk through his laugh and almost succeeds. "Old Strangle Hands Neal, had hands that wouldn't quit. Quit what, man?" Link knows what he's angling at but plays against it, sounding exasperated.

"Stranglin'!"

"Mhmm, strangling what?" He caves and chuckles along, their laughter subsiding more easily this time though they're both still smiling up at the tent like idiots, their smiles slower to go. 

"You think there's one where we're not friends?" Link's voice is a little quieter this time, like the whisper-magic's starting to come over him, too.

He's thought about it, yeah, intellectually, of course. But it still makes him the smallest bit uncomfortable. "Maybe. Maybe some where we're not friends _yet_. One where we're dog best friends. Maybe one where we're more than friends. Anything you can imagine, man." Rhett's got his eyes closed now, but he'd like to think he knows Link well enough to know he's got his eyebrows raised sky-high.

"Sure not imagining us being more than friends," Link scoffs. If Rhett reached over, he'd feel the telltale creases in his forehead. Maybe, in some universe, he does reach over, and suddenly, worryingly, that's got him unaccountably jealous. He turns his attention to fiddling with the zipper on his bag instead, to keep his hands busy.

"Uh huh, you tell yourself that, brother." Link's preparing some disgusted noise deep in his throat, and Rhett cuts across it. "I am one fine specimen, baby." The noise turns to a laugh before it can get out, which he'll count as a victory, and he hears Link choke a little, pipes confused from the sudden change in trajectory.

"Yeah, you're forgetting I've seen those pilates videos of you. Seen a little too much, some would say." Intellectually, Rhett knows an eyeroll is not audible. All the same, he suspects he can hear Link's.

"You're just bitter because you know I'd be a better boyfriend than you." What would usually be good-natured ribbing is starting to feel distinctly out of Rhett's control, but he's got Link talking and he's sure not gonna stop now. He clamps down on the voice of concern whispering to him from somewhere in the back of his head and listens to Link scoff instead. 

"Boyfriend? Nuh uh, I'da married you by now. You think I'm hanging around this long and no ring?" He ought to be embarrassed, but out here with no one to hear them, it's awfully easy to follow Rhett's lead. His head drifts sideways, seeking toward Rhett's voice in the dark.

"You're marrying me?" A trademarked McLaughlin hoot of laughter. "If anything, _I_ 'd marry _you_."

"Oh, whatever. What's it matter which one of us is marrying who?" He can hear Link's voice dropping into the more serious tone of a spat, getting himself wound up. "You're always so pushy." Rhett doesn't want to escalate. Instead, he huffs a laugh.

"Pushy? You love it." Without any warning that Link can detect, Rhett's rolling over him, holding himself up on one arm that's planted itself to the side of Link's head, and Link's stomach has utterly abandoned him. He can just barely make out the outline of a closer shadow against the background of the tent roof, Rhett's upper body hovering over his at arm's length, touching nowhere but sending the hair on Link's arms to stand on end.

"Uh, bo?" Rhett's laugh comes out in a sort of wheeze, but he doesn't move. He lets the silence stretch a little longer, tipping far enough this side of awkward that he knows Link won't be able to let it alone.

"Just messin' with you, brother." His free hand pats Link's chest firmly through his t-shirt, as though to reassure, but _fuck_ , his mind is wandering and his hand lingers without him meaning for it to. He's always been a man of many thoughts, but tonight it feels like a few too many. With a sigh, he flops back down, though the flop is a little more ginger than average, considering his back. His hand drags along with him, off Link's chest and to the edge of Link's sleeping bag, where he leaves it.

Next to him, he can sense Link holding as still as he possibly can, trying to sort through his thoughts at breakneck speed, but that's nothing new. Rhett's nearly ready to drift off, shake this odd mood of his off and start fresh in the morning, when Link opens his mouth.

"I think about that. Sometimes. Too." Link's voice is as tense as his body, clenched in preparation for rebuke or mockery. Rhett's mouth's gone so dry and cottony, though, he couldn't wallop him even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't.

He gives it a second while he licks his lips a couple times, swallows, and then tentatively says, "Yeah. Hard to believe those other me's could put up with you outside of work hours."

"Come on, dude, you know what I mean." Well. If Link didn't call him on his shit, would it even be Link?

"Right." He doesn't clear his throat, but the urge is powerful. "That's only natural. You gotta wonder what would have to be different." He ignores some of the harder questions for now, of wives and kids and multimedia brands. It's just the two of them, like they're out on the ocean all alone. Link's still uncomfortable, he knows, having admitted even what he has. It's instinct to try to join him on the shaky ground, firm it up a bit however he has to.

"I think about it," he offers, speaking maybe a little too quickly. "Not, like, a lot, but I do." Link lets out the smallest breath. He starts to zip and unzip his sleeping bag without thinking much about it, because all his mind has room for now is all the other Rhetts and all the other Links and where their respective boundaries are. Where they would be, in a tent in the desert.

"Yeah?" Rhett's being a hell of a lot more sensitive than Link had expected, but then, he put a hell of a lot of trust into his confession. And Rhett's never broken his trust. Never would, he doesn't think.

"Yeah. But I mean, everybody thinks about banging their best friend." Rhett's got no data to back that up, of course. "Intrusive thoughts, y'know." A startled noise comes from the vicinity of Link's pillow. He recovers and laughs a little, but Rhett hears the high, thin strain of nerves underneath.

"You thinkin' 'bout it now?" Rhett's stomach pitches, and he feels on the very edge of something important. He wouldn't say he's always imagined something here, always wanted it. That's going a little far. But he would say he's always at least given the thought the time of day, he's always had a curiosity, perverse or otherwise, and almost never a more overwhelming one than here in the dark and the desert with Link telling him he's thought about it too.

"You tell me, brother." It doesn't feel dangerous when he moves the hand at the side of Link's sleeping bag a little closer to the other man's side. It doesn't feel wrong; it just feels like the same game of chicken they've played with touching all their lives, feeling out the line between awkward and inappropriate, often clumsily. So he moves it a little further.

"Rhett." He can't quite bring himself to ask what Rhett's doing. He's pretty sure he knows. In a flash, he knows he's gonna let him, too. But if Rhett stops, if he cries uncle, then Link's off the hook.

"Yeah?" The movement is more decisive this time, and Rhett's broad palm spreads against his stomach. The gulp Link takes rocks through his whole body, but Rhett waits it out. "I think about a lot of things," he adds, as if that clears anything up, as if it doesn't send Link's heartrate skyrocketing. But it is true. He hasn't pined for it, but he does think about what it would be like. If it were different, if it were some other universe. If he could just slide his hand down, bunching up Link's shirt as he goes, until he can feel the jut of his hipbone, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Link's mind goes white around the edges. He can't hear the universe or the desert or anything fucking else anymore, nothing outside this tent exists, just the sound of his own blood rushing through his ears and the five points of contact on his hip in the darkness. Even now, he wraps himself up in his instinct to freeze, to stay still and let Rhett tire out whatever joke he's after. But Rhett's hand just sits there, heavy and a little clammy, and Link shifts his hips the smallest bit in what he swears is an involuntary move. It seems to shake Rhett out of it a little.

"We gonna do this?" From the sound of it, Rhett's craned his head toward him, still off to his left but a hell of a lot closer now. Link wishes he could make out more of Rhett through the dim light, but he settles for a tight smile that he hopes makes its way into his voice.

"Not gonna turn chicken if you aren't." Another laugh, smaller this time, but it's still a relief. They both breathe a little easier for a minute before Rhett turns his attention back downward, trying not to let himself think too hard. He steels himself a little before inching one finger, two, and then the rest under the line of Link's underwear. This is fast, faster than his head can keep up with, but now that he's started, his blood's pumping hard and hot and he's not sure he could stop. There are a few embarrassing seconds of empty-handed groping until his fingertips just barely brush Link and he hears him suck in a breath that sounds like a wince. Rhett pauses, like he's asking a question, and Link hears it like he said it out loud.

"I dunno, man. It's weird. I feel weird." Link can feel a fine trembling across his whole body, and he's just about to jump out of his skin with nervous energy. Rhett's hand's as still as if it were frozen.

"Tell me to stop." Said like that, it sounds like a challenge, and the stubbornness in Link rears up at a dizzying speed. All he can think to say for a moment is a firm _make me_ , but he worries how the stubbornness in Rhett will react to that. "Tell me to stop and I'll stop," Rhett says again, though it sounds gentler on the second pass.

Link frowns and feels a frisson of uncertainty, feels it right down to his bones. Then he moves his hand, faster than he means to because he wants the decision done with, knocking Rhett's knuckles when they meet. "We're gonna have to talk about this." Rhett doesn't grumble. It's important. He knows it is.

"We'll talk about it." And that's it, the last lifeline from the last boat and now they're adrift, but it doesn't matter now, because Rhett's mind's had a chance to catch up to his hands and all it can think is _more_.

It takes a him a second to gather himself and begin moving again, but when he does, he's ready - mentally, physically. He guesses Link is, too, because when he wraps his hand around his cock, grip a thousand times more confident than he feels, Link doesn't protest. His hand comes up and grips Rhett's arm like he's holding on for dear life and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, but he's been quietly getting harder and harder since he felt the span of Rhett's hand across more than half his stomach.

Rhett's at odd angles with him now, he can feel, braced on his right arm and neck just above Link's mouth in the dark. He can't see Rhett's left, but he pictures it shoved down through his clothes and his bag and wrapped around his dick, and even the thought makes his hips lift of their own volition, grinding up toward Rhett's palm. Link wasn't lying. He's thought about it alright. But when Rhett's hand moves, tightening and pulling down a little, experimentally, even dry as everything is, he's overwhelmed like he never imagined himself being and moans a hell of a lot louder than he means to.

Rhett doesn't laugh. He can't, first of all, because the sound of Link moaning under him nearly knocks the breath out of him. But second, he can't think of one thing that would be funny about it. It's freaking _hot_ , hotter than he could have believed twenty minutes ago when all this was a theoretical sometimes-daydream to him. His shoulder twinges a bit from the angle, but he's too damn busy focusing on the motion of his hand, on the rhythmic tickling of Link's breath at his neck, for anything else to fit into his brain.

He can't say any of this is familiar to him, really, but he knows what he likes. He doesn't want to, because he's a little worried he might not get the courage up to reach back down there twice, but before he can let himself think too hard Rhett's pulling his hand out and Link's groaning, sounding half-confused and half-annoyed. The puff of air hits Rhett's ear in a way that makes him shiver, and suddenly he finds himself hurrying to pool as much spit in his mouth as he can before licking his hand, which now smells of Link in a way that goes straight to his groin, rather thoroughly. If Link thinks it's gross, which Rhett half expects, he's certainly not saying anything as Rhett's hand finds its way back down.

Link's fingers dig into Rhett's upper arm, the closer one, the right one, a little harder the second time Rhett's hand reaches his cock. He'd prefer not to think about the how of it being so slick now, but it doesn't matter, because all he can focus on now is the wet and the heat encircling him. Rhett seems to reconsider his approach, peeling his fingers up twice to try to find a comfortable grip, and Link's grunting by the time he settles on one, fingers fully wrapped around him and the pad of his thumb just under the head. He starts to pump, a little hesitantly at first but then with increasing confidence, and Link's toes curl.

Whether it's from the thought it being him, _Rhett_ , or the feel of his huge hand wrapped so tight around him, or both, Link can't parse out, but it feels so damn good and he's only getting slicker, weeping precum over Rhett's fingers and onto his own stomach. Rhett seems to notice finally, a little belatedly, and pauses in his strokes. Lightly, he brushes him thumb up and over the slit, gathering the wetness there and rubbing a little, and Link leans up and buries his teeth in Rhett's neck so he doesn't scream. He tries to stay gentle, he does, but then Rhett's working his hand back down with new slickness and then up, twisting a little at the top, and he can't be responsible for his actions anymore. His breath's coming fast through his nose when he hears Rhett gasp.

"Dang, man, your teeth are sharp." He feels Link's jaw draw back immediately, his lips replacing it with a small kiss that they both refuse to be embarrassed about for the moment. Rhett's shoulder's burning now under Link's hand but Link's tighter than a bowstring under him, making small sounds Rhett's sure he's not even registering but that are making him uncomfortably hard. He can feel a spot of dampness starting to form on the inside of his underwear and a low sound rumbles out of him.

He's trying to keep his hand working rhythmically - down, up, twist at the top - but it's getting harder. Link can feel himself starting to buck out of time, Rhett's groan reverberating around his mind like an echo chamber, and he's not sure how to warn Rhett, with his hips snapping up to meet his hand, that he's close, he's so close, just a little--

But he doesn't have to, because he's murmuring all of it anyway without realizing, and when Rhett feels Link curl up toward him with a yelp, something warm and wet sliding down over his hand, he's caught by surprise when he comes in his underwear like a fucking teenager, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. For a minute he's just adrift in surprise and pleasure and adrenaline, until he realizes his hand's still rocking and Link's yanking at his arm, hissing through his teeth. He pulls his hand away immediately, sheepish even in the dark.

"Sorry, sorry." He hears Link's head hit the pillow with a muffled thump, and they're both still breathing hard, trying to come down. Rhett holds his hand out from himself a bit, suddenly presented with the practical reality of what to do about the mess on his hand and, presumably, all over Link.

Link, though, is way ahead of him, hand scuffling around somewhere over his head in search of a towel he'd brought, intending to use it to mop sweat, but now.. well. It'll do for this too. Finally, his hand closes around it and he pulls it over his hand, pressing it into Rhett's hand after a quick clean-up job on himself. He tries not to feel embarrassed, but he can't help it, a blush starting to heat his cheeks. It's only as Rhett's mmm-ing his thanks that the thought strikes Link.

"I'm sorry, man, I didn't.. I was a little.." He breathes out hard, almost a laugh, and starts over. Rhett's struck by a wave of fondness so strong he has a hard time breathing around it for a second or two. "You didn't get to.." Rhett lets him trail off, hoping, optimistically, that Link might realize it himself. He was hoping not to have to admit it out loud, that Link would have heard him, but clearly he's not gonna be spared this. He grimaces.

"Don't worry about it, brother." Link hears the sound of clothes sliding over Rhett's skin and what sounds suspiciously like the towel being used. It clicks.

"Oh, dude!" Link's hysterical laughter is bubbling up uncontrollably. He doesn't mean it mean-spirited, but you gotta admit, it's at least a little funny, and he's riding the high of released tension and plain old release. "You are so _into_ me." Rhett wants to pout, but Link's laugh is chipping away at all the tension that's sunk its claws into his shoulders in his discomfort and the unfamiliarity of the whole damn thing, and soon he gives in and joins him.

"You're one to talk, man. You nearly ripped my freaking jugular out." He hears Link snap his teeth and he laughs harder, lower. He winds up the towel and snaps it at Link, who yelps, just once, and then Rhett eases himself back down. He's closer to Link now than he was when he dragged Link into all this, the conversation and.. this, his right arm pressed up against Link's left stem to stern. Link's skin's still hot as a firecracker.

"We've gotta talk about it." Rhett doesn't hesitate. Maybe in some other universe, they could sweep it under the rug. Maybe in some other universe it never happened at all; they just talked, or argued, or got up and went outside and looked at the stars at 2:00 AM. But here and now, Rhett doesn't feel envious of a single one of them, and he can't stand to make Link anxious by hemming and hawing. Not now.

"We will." Link feels his nerves slowly bleed away like they're running off and soaking into the hard sand underneath him. He doesn't move to touch Rhett more, but he doesn't roll away. He stays pressed up against him and fights off sleep longer than he should just to hear Rhett's breathing going steady and even beside him.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my fuck, it's 2:30 but I did it. I wrote something explicit. I'm sure I'll be back in the morning to correct my typos. Hope you all enjoyed!
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://mooseontheyouths.tumblr.com/).


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